


It's Not Love At First Sight (Because This Isn't A Country Song)

by blueskypenguin



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskypenguin/pseuds/blueskypenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU. “It’s not like it’s some ass-kissing liberal shit like fate or destiny; it’s just that I, Josh Ray Person, am fucking irresistible.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Love At First Sight (Because This Isn't A Country Song)

_So, he’s on the college debate team._

 _Yeah, laugh it up. It’s an_ endless _source of amusement to everyone he knows – until they realise that he’s so fucking awesome, he can talk about literally anything and run verbal and argumentative circles around anyone. So, fuck you and your whiskey tango dick-suck dime-store prostitute of a mother._

 _Anyway: he may be the best thing to happen to this whacked-out collegiate circle-jerk and he could probably wing any debate, smack down the opposing team and still have the talk to get their hottest girl bent over the desk for him with her panties in his pocket, but where’s the fun in that?_

 _Besides the obvious mind-blowing orgasm, of course._

 _He_ likes _to know shit no-one else does; he_ likes _having fucking superlative facts to throw down in between moments of such sheer eloquence, the Queen of goddamn England herself would bow and suck his dick in awe._

 _Except she’s ancient, and he has, you know, standards and shit. Make sure you write that down, Writer. I do_ not _fuck grannies over fifty._

 _Right, so the point is: he does his fucking research, alright? He makes a goddamn_ effort _._

 _And sure, he can do most of that online – no, not Wikipedia, you obtuse inbred donkey-fucker – but occasionally he cracks one off to the sound of his own awesome and then cracks a book; because some retards have yet to join the twenty-first fucking century and scan their shit into Google._

 _...Ignore Iceman over there. The only reason he has a hard-on for goddamn “real books” at all is because he has a big ol’ lesbian crush on this pouty-mouthed Classicist he saw in the campus library coffee shop, like fucking true love at first fucking fruity latte in a Disney flick – you know, if Disney could actually_ do _anything more gay than a Greek god flaming blue (I mean can you believe that homo shit, the guy is literally_ flaming _) and if any one of them could draw worth a damn to render that piece of jailbait’s cock-sucking lips._

 _Christ, Brad, it’d inspire a whole new generation of dick-smokers!_

 _...Whatever, homes, just grow a pair and tap that piece of ass. You’re beginning to mope like a pathetic little moomin. Seriously, could your eyes get any more soulful and shit? Fuck you, like I care that you’re not Scandinavian – like you even know, anyway. Go find your boy-toy, and leave me to tell my story._

 _Where was I? Oh yeah –_

 _So this, my liberal, hippy playwright (since you are lacking in inspiration and taking refuge in the novella that is_ real life _like some mentally masturbatory docudrama or Real Students of Whatever Bum-Fucking Red-State County), is the fucking primo, five-star, Oscar-worthy tale of how I went to the library and found me my_ Walt _._

 _Well, he’s not exactly mine_ yet _, but fuck that – he’s gonna be. It’s not like it’s some ass-kissing liberal shit like_ fate _or_ destiny _; it’s just that I, Josh Ray Person, am fucking irresistible._

 _And you better credit me for this shit. I’m not joking, Writer, I want fucking royalties off this slice of fried gold._

* * *

“Homes! I’m going to the library – can you survive an hour without me?” Ray grinned as he locked his dorm room door and pointedly didn’t enter Brad’s room – shouting from the hallway, he didn’t even appear in Brad’s doorway. Their corridor had an open door policy and some novelty door stops to go with it; a closed door was only ever a sign of the occupant being out, or the occupant getting laid. “Oh, and don’t forget the beer!”

“You’re going out,” Brad replied, not shouting but it wasn’t like he couldn’t make himself heard, “You get the beer.”

Ray shrugged. “I’m not going by the store.”

Brad stopped typing and executed a perfect roll from his desk to the hallway, using his feet to stop the wheels on the computer chair taking him further. Frowning over the frames of his glasses, he looked particularly disapproving. “Then where the fuck are you going?”

“What are you, my wife?” Ray grinned as he adjusted his scarf, turned and walked away. He left it a long moment before putting Brad out of his misery; he shouted back as he rounded the corner to go downstairs and leave the building: “Library!”

The word echoed through the corridor.

Brad blinked; he wasn’t even aware Ray knew the university had a library, much less where it was - or that he couldn’t get there via the 7-11. Since Brad had been at the library pretty frequently lately, he’d assumed Ray thought he was out at class or something.

Speaking of the library, Brad had been in the middle of work before Ray had blustered his way in.

He kicked himself off the wall to roll back to his desk. Once there, he eyed the last line of code he’d written and cursed – it was complete gibberish. In fact, as he scrolled back over his last twenty minutes of work, he realised it was all retarded nonsense.

Fucking A.

He snatched his cell phone and wallet from the desk, shrugged on his coat and locked his door behind him, kicking the Pacman doorstop away. It wouldn’t take much to catch up with Ray.

He was due a coffee break anyway.

* * *

“You’re truly pathetic, homes,” Ray shook his head as Brad fell into step beside him. “Seriously, are you going to pine in that coffee shop forever? Every day, Brad; you’ve been there every day - the guy doesn’t even work there every day! _And_ you’ve yet to crack his schedule, so you suck major ass as a stalker.”

Brad said nothing.

“You don’t even know the kid’s name! And I’m sure the fact that your coffee addiction is starting to rival mine is a total coincidence. Shit, homes, that coffee isn’t that fucking good. Have you said more than ten words to him at once? More than ‘ _coffee, black, none of that fancy shit_ ’?”

“Drop it, Ray.”

“No, Brad. I’m gonna be here for you ‘til the end of the fucking world, but I’m not going to watch you sabotage yourself over some fucking ridiculous martyr shit. You can’t let that clusterfuck with Julie -”

“ _Ray_. Drop this shit, right now,” Brad’s tone left no room for manoeuvre.

Ray threw his hands up in a mock-surrender. “Whatever. You’re being a fucking chickenshit, but... whatever.”

They walked the last few hundred feet to the library doors in silence.

The library coffee shop took up half of the ground floor, and as Ray and Brad walked through the doors, they both looked to the main counter. Sure enough, Brad’s little boy-toy was dealing with the sole customer – the sole, tall, lean, blond customer who looked very relaxed with the barista - and smiling widely. Brad’s Boy and the guy looked very comfortable.

Ray chose to ignore Brad’s barely audible growl for the sake of his balls.

“You’re on your own, homes. I’ll be in... hm, political history, I think,” Ray rubbed his hands together and grinned. Despite Halloween having passed weeks ago – with much drinking and making freshmen cry for their whiskey tango mommas – Ray looked every inch the wicked, plotting devil. As he walked towards the main stairwell, he shouted back with a fist-pump to the air for punctuation: “And don’t forget the beer!”

Incidentally, Ray also chose to ignore the glare from the librarian at the front desk and the slight hesitance in Brad’s first step towards the café.

* * *

The stacks were empty, though that wasn’t a surprise for early afternoon, even so close to Christmas; Ray had timed his visit perfectly – the morning studiers had left and the evening studiers had yet to turn up. He had a fucking _method_ for his research and Ray could not be fucked with people interrupting his process.

As he stalked down the aisle toward the 20th century politics section, the motion-sensor lights flickered to life. He knew the layout of the whole library like the palm of his jacking off hand - though Ray’s not sure how he even came by that knowledge; three weeks into his first semester he’d come-to on the library’s lawn, hungover from a wicked high and stinking like a brewery, with a full bladder and a full understanding of the Dewey Decimal System – but the lights allowed him a casual perusal of the titles in the stacks.

“Fucking biographies,” he bitched, looking at an entire shelf section devoted to Henry the goddamn eighth. “Least the dicksuck was pimpin’.”

He kept walking, the books cycling through the Tudor monarchs, past the Regency elite and into the industrial revolution. Finally, he hit the 1900s; “Arms race, war, economic boom, fucking bankers, arms race, fucking war, war, war oh – and more war-”

“Wow, man, your summary is fucking depressing.”

Ray grinned and turned around slowly. It was the guy from the café downstairs, and he mustn’t have been far behind Ray coming up to this floor – he wondered if Brad had scared away his competition. “Until the invention of the internet and the introduction of wide-spread, freely-available porn, the last century was a fucking disaster - not that this one is shaping up to be much better.”

“An optimist.”

“A realist, homes,” he snorted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. The guy either had a base-camp at a desk somewhere, or he was library staff – even his familiarity with Brad’s Barista Boy could be because of either case.

And speaking of, he hoped Brad hadn’t iced this guy too hard. He was pretty hot for a librarian-slash-wandering and snarky student, not that librarians couldn’t be hot: shit, they had their own porn tropes.

Still, he was a fucking walking pin-up and would give Brad a run for his Aryan money – tousled blond hair, blue eyes, tanned and with a smooth Virginian tone.

Fuck, Ray was staring.

“Um,” and double fuck; since when did Ray say ‘um’? He was Ray goddamn Person! He was never lost for words, never lost his shit over a pretty face and easy smile. “You know where I can find anything on British politics between the World Wars?”

That wasn’t even what he was looking for, but fuck if Ray could remember what he’d planned to read.

The Guy smiled, nodded and began walking toward Ray. With every step that he came closer, Ray’s mouth became drier. He never clammed up, was never incapable of saying _something_ (even if it was complete bullshit), and yet when The Guy – the smirking, well-built, fucking Guy – stopped mere inches away, Ray found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Ray held his breath as the guy reached out, and for a split second, he was convinced the Guy was going to punch him or push him or pull him or goddamn _anything_ , fuck, he’d could do _anything_ -

\- but when The Guy drew his hand back, he was holding a book; taken from the shelf right behind Ray’s head. “There you go.”

He didn’t even look at the title, just said, “Thanks,” a little hoarsely and fucking shit, what happened to the smooth Ray, the player Ray, the guy who could make anyone’s fucking dreams come true with this mouth alone?

The Guy was grinning – a little evilly, and Ray was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was fucking _mesmerised_ or some shit like that – and there was a flash of pink tongue behind perfect white teeth. “Great – I gotta go deal with returns,” he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Holler if you ...need anything else.” He turned on the spot and walked back down the aisle.

Oh yeah, that was an invitation.

... “Yeah, sure.” So typically he spazzed out like a total pussy. What the fuck - who was this guy? He needed to find his fucking balls, this guy was walking away and he was hot as hell and fucking knew it.

“Hey, homes,” Ray slouched carefully against the stacks as The Guy looked back. It was a slouch that had served him well, and with his coat undone, his t-shirt stretched to show a few hints of his tattoos. Girls went fucking wild for this slouch. “I didn’t catch your name?”

The Guy wasn’t subtle about his head-to-toe once over of Ray’s body.

Person shoots –he fucking _scores_.

“Guess not,” The Guy shrugged, and turned back. He continued to walk away from Ray.

...Person _bombs_. Fuck, he wasn’t hallucinating, was he? He hadn’t taken anything in days, he was sober as a fucking judge – well, not that judges were sober, he knew that, so maybe sober as a pretty fucking sober thing – so he couldn’t be making this shit up, right?

Was he a pod person? Had he been replaced by a fucking pod person and he didn’t even know? Shit, he was having an existential crisis in the political history section of the college fucking library.

“It’s Walt, Ray,” The Guy - _Walt_ \- shouted as he vanished out of sight at the end of the aisle.

Ray gasped for breath; he hadn’t realised he’d been holding it. Yeah, Walt was fucking made for him.


End file.
